


the strappy jacket chronicles

by fleshboundbook



Category: Psychonauts
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Vague Mentions of Suicide, reference to abuse, sort of copingfic, that cliche where a character lies on the floor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleshboundbook/pseuds/fleshboundbook
Summary: some drabbles-but-not-technically with weird start/end points set at some point after Rhombus of Ruin, in an AU where Crispin, Fred, and Dr. Loboto are living together. i guess they're romantically involved. other characters may show up. i'll update the tags as needed.





	the strappy jacket chronicles

There’s a thick bedsnarl in what’s left of his hair, where most of it is, actually, on the crown of his head and down onto his neck. He keeps forgetting he doesn’t have a full head of hair but he isn’t bald. That’s a confusing gray area at this point, honestly. It’s hard to come up with the word, oh, “patchy”, or the concept of “not a great person but not completely horrible”, or the hormones required to level out his moods.

He’s sitting on the floor in Fred’s apartment by the balcony with the sliding glass door and the bars over it. They’re in an okay neighborhood, but there are three intermittently suicidal people living here. He’s tapping his foot as an act of self-comfort, trying to get a grip on some memory or other, it’s even vaguer now, a feeling at best. He lets himself fall back onto the carpet and lays there for about four minutes before Crispin comes in.

“Doctor?” Crispin is wearing socks and pajamas and a cardigan. The cardigan is a new thing and possibly signals improvement.

It still tickles him a little to be called by his proper title, beyond the years of regrettable memories attached to it. He was once a dentist, it reminds him, and he is able to recall when he was in medical school, away from his parents for the first time.

“Hello, Crispin.” He rolls onto his side. “My brain is incredibly busy right now.”

Crispin isn’t great at comforting people, so he nods silently. “Do you want to be alone, then?”

“No! Nonono. I did but then you came in and now I decided I want you to be here, and you could also hold my hand.”

He drops down into a crosslegged pose and oh god, arthritis, he is not the spry little gremlin he was at age twenty. He’s pretty sure his knees audibly cracked. But he puts his hand in Caligosto’s, slightly self-conscious about how small it is compared to the big blue spidery thing grasping it, and buzzing with a slight panic as rarely being touched does to a person.

“Fred’s going to walk in and think we’re… I don’t know, that we’re in a two-person cult.”

“He’s going to think we’re super gay together! Which we are! So it’s fine!”


End file.
